


No Such Thing As Someone Else's War

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America, Canon-Typical Violence, Concentration Camps, Gen, Peggy Carter as Captain America, Post Steve Rogers Death, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Steve crashes to end Schmidt's threat, but there's still work to be done. The best person to do that work is Captain America. Without Steve around to do it, it falls on someone else, and Peggy takes up the mantle.Keeping Steve's death a secret from the rest of the world gives Peggy and the Commandos a chance to put an end to Hydra once and for all.  Along the way they're reminded that monsters are real, and every one of them comes in the shape of a man.





	No Such Thing As Someone Else's War

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to GYRHS for the amazing art that inspired this story! It was a pleasure to work with you!

Peggy walks out of the control room where she’d heard Steve plunge to his death. Her whole body is stiff and numb with shock, grief. No one meets her eyes until finally Dugan clears his throat and everyone looks up. “So. Schmidt’s down and we’ve got Zola.”

Peggy’s voice is choked with emotion, but strong nonetheless. “Yes. It appears so.”

“And Cap’s…”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

Monty nods solemnly. “Well said.”

“So what now?” Gabe puts his hands in his jacket pockets and rocks back on his heels. “War’s not over. Do we go back to our old units?”

“No.” The all look over at Peggy, obviously confused. She straightens her posture and puts her shoulders back. “We know Steve is… gone. We’ll tell Howard. And it stops there. We’ll finish out the war with the Nazis and Hydra convinced Captain America is fighting until the very end.”

“How’re we gonna do that?” Jim asks. “We’re down one Captain America.”

“No. We’re down one Steve Rogers.” Her voice breaks but she keeps going. “No one else can be Steve, but most people don’t know Steve is Captain America. The Captain is an ideal. A force. The truth of Steve Rogers is that we all have the power to be Captain America. His values were Steve’s. Not the serum’s.”

“The serum didn’t hurt,” Monty sid.

Peggy raises an eyebrow. “Anyone can be Captain America.”

“Not everybody, Carter,” Dugan shakes his head. “You’re British.”

“I most certainly can. Both flags are red, white, and blue.” She looks him in the eye. “Do you have a problem with me taking this on, Sergeant?”

“No. I don’t.” Dugan’s look is appraising. She knows he’s seen enough hair-brained schemes that Steve pulled them through not to be willing to follow her lead. She trusts them all, but she knows Dugan will tell her straight, just as easily as she knew he’d know she’d meant herself when she’d proposed this. “But I know plenty of people will.”

“I know plenty of people who care that we have a team consisting of a black, a Frenchie, a limey, a Jap, two Irishmen, and a Jew working together. I don’t seem to recall you letting that deter the six of you. Do you suggest we let it stop us?”

Dugan smiles, teeth bright white under his mustache. “Not on your life, Captain.”

**

“Not on your life,” Phillips snaps, slamming his fist on his desk. “We already lost our goddamned super soldier. I’m not about to lose my top goddamned agent.”

“I’m not yours to lose, Colonel.”

Phillips looks up at the top of the tent as if he’s hoping God will intervene and save him from all of this. “I don’t know who’s worse. You or him.”

“These days, Colonel? The only answer is me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Howard.” She walks out of the command tent and into the lab Howard’s established. She’s exhausted, and all she wants is an hour to let herself to relax, even though she knows that the moment she lets her guard down, all of the grief and longing will overtake her. Right now sheer determination is keeping her upright and in motion.

Howard is in the back of the building, sparks flying from the torch he’s working with. His whole body seems to be bristling, anger and energy rolling off of him in waves.

“Howard.”

“He’s an _idiot_.”

“You know we couldn’t have duplicated the formula.”

The torch is still burning when Howard whips around to look at her, eyes wild behind his goggles. He snaps off the flame, but the odor of gas remains thick in the air. “This has nothing to do with the formula.” He looks away from her, and Peggy knows that it’s for his own sake rather than hers. “I’m going to find him. We owe him that.”

“When the war’s over. Until then there’s still work to do.”

He pulls his goggles up and looks at her speculatively, any emotion he’d shown before gone. “And what work is that?”

“I need a suit.”

“A suit.”

She gives him a quick nod. “And a shield.”

He sets the torch down loudly and something mechanical skitters off the table. He looks furious. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We’re too far into the war to lose the momentum of Captain America.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Carter, but you’re got a hell of a lot more curves than Rogers did. Pretty sure you’re not going to be fooling anyone.”

“Between the colors, the cowl, and the shield no one is going to be looking at my curves.”

“You underestimate your curves.” Howard’s anger seems like a real thing shimmering along his skin, and she’s not sure if it’s directed at her, at Steve, himself, or the universe’s easy cruelty. “You want the red to match your lipstick?”

“Do you want to continue to have your body parts where they currently are?”

“Not sure if that’s a yes or a no.”

“I'll have Private Lorraine help with my measurements and we’ll get them to you.”

“Perfectly happy to measure you myself.”

“Your mourning period is impressive.”

“Like you said.” Howard’s eyes narrow and Peggy can see something dark and dangerous in them. “We don’t have time to mourn.” He turns away from her and grabs the torch, lighting it again. 

It gives him an orange halo. 

Peggy watches him for a long moment before turning to go to find Private Lorraine.

**

She wakes up with a start, her heart pounding. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on her skin. The images of the nightmare linger: Steve’s face blurring into Schmidt’s. The burn of dismissal she’s felt all her life echoing in her head. Howard and Steve and Phillips and her mother’s voices telling her she’s not worth it, not enough.

Getting up, she pushes the rough fabric of the green blanket off her and walks over to the window, lifting the blackout screen and staring out into the moonless night. She’s in England for two days while the Commandos resupply, getting fitted with her own version of the Captain America suit. She hasn’t talked to Howard since the night after Steve…

After Steve.

Howard had let Philips know everything was waiting for her and, not wanting to waste any more time, she’d gotten a ride to England on the next flight out. Tomorrow she puts on the mantle of Captain America. She opens the file on her desk, tracing her fingers lightly over Bucky’s face, tenderly over Steve’s. There are smudges on the photographs, so she carefully wipes them away with the soft cotton of her handkerchief. 

Tomorrow she’ll get all of them to the end of the war.

**

Denier whistles, low and appreciative. Peggy ignores it, remembering the way she’d been compelled to touch Steve when he’d stepped from the Vita-Ray chamber. Admittedly, he’d been bare-chested at the time but, even with the bulky jacket and armoring Howard had put in, the suit still feels molded to her figure. Feels like she’s just as much on display.

“You’re definitely going to get attention in that,” Gabe says. “You’re not going to need the shield. They’re all gonna be knocked out by how you look.”

“I can assure you all that I don’t need my looks to do this job.”

“No disrespect,” Gabe assures her. “You just look pretty amazing.”

“You’re a damn sight better to look at than Rogers,” Dugan says with a nod. “And given that he was relatively a Greek god, that’s sayin’ something.”

“Why, Sergeant,” Peggy says with a smirk, “I didn’t know you… admired the Captain that much.”

Dugan narrows his eyes then his face breaks open with a laugh. “Have to be blind not to notice, Captain. And I’m way too good a damn shot to claim that.”

“However, as much as I appreciate being compared to him, from here on out I expect all of you to treat me with the same respect you showed St-” She clears her throat. “Captain Rogers.”

“No offense, Ma’am… Agent? Captain?” Morita stumbles over how to address her.

“Captain is fine. It will help maintain the charade.”

“Captain.” He nods then shrugs. “You might want a little more respect than that. We didn’t always go easy on Cap.”

“I can assure you I can handle anything you threw at him.” She adjusts her gun belt. “Now. I believe we have some work to do.”

**

With Schmidt gone, Hydra is disorganized but not inactive. The intel the Commandos had taken from Hydra headquarters had the locations of numerous bases, and Peggy and the team plot out a plan of attack. Hitler’s armies are more focused on the Russian front, so when her team starts the push through, the deserting soldiers they meet are mostly Hydra. 

There’s a palpable fear when they charge the first base, the masked soldiers and leaders scurrying like rats as Peggy leads the charge through the front doors. The hurt and anger they all feel at the loss of Bucky and Steve makes them all slightly reckless, which makes it easy to keep the Captain America legend alive with Steve’s battle plan of rushing in head first.

Rumors fly ahead of them as the number of deserting Hydra soldiers increases, and they show just as little mercy to them individually as they do when they encounter them en masse in the factories. Denier destroys weapons as they go, leaving nothing behind except hunks of metal twisted into unrecognizable shapes. 

They leave a trail of bodies, smoke, and fire behind them, and none of them mourn for the newly dead. They’ve already mourned too much.

**

Howard leans on the table with both hands, frowning down at the map. The Commandos are sitting around the table, Gabe and Denier on one side with Monty, Morita and Dugan on the other. Peggy stands at the opposite end of the table, and the lack of symmetry just highlights Barnes’s absence.

“If we can trust their records, the next base should be a weapons installation. No intel on if it’s still operational. The locals that are left are too scared to go near it. Ghost stories and superstition.”

“I think they’re perfectly justified in their fears. After all, his face _was_ a red skull.” Peggy’s voice is dry. “I can understand their trepidation.”

Howard shrugs a shoulder. “It’s just science.”

“Not everyone is quite as pragmatic as you.”

“So what’s the plan?” Morita asks, heading off any possible argument. “Charge in like we’re immortal?” Steve’s death reminds them all too much that they’re anything but that, but Peggy refuses to let that deter her.

“I think if the locals are spooked, we’d best take the advice of your earlier President Roosevelt. Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

“And by stick you mean guns, right?” Dugan asks with a smile.”

“Explosions.” Denier adds.

“Hm,” Peggy hums. “I think both of those will be quite acceptable.”

They approach the coordinates from the south, avoiding the town as well as the surrounding farmhouses. They’re edging closer when the wind changes, and they stop to cover their mouths and noses with their hands or sleeves or handkerchiefs. The sickening sweetness of starvation hangs thick in the air, barely masking the heavy stench of rot.

Gabe’s voice is low. “I don’t think this is a Hydra camp.”

“No.” Peggy’s voice is just as quiet. “I don’t think it is.” Clearing her throat, she straightens her shoulders. “Call in our position, Gabe. We’re going to need a lot more help with this.”

They wait for Gabe to radio for support before they move forward. The smell worsens and they all struggle not to cough. There are tall fences topped with looped coils of barbed wire. Dugan grabs a rock and throws it, the sharp zap of electricity adding another smell to the air.

There’s a low shuffling sound and Peggy looks through the fence. A small group of people are gathering, pressed closed to the wall of one of the buildings. They’re androgynous, too thin to truly tell if they’re male or female with their shaved heads, starved and skeletal.

They crowd toward the gates when they see the Commandos, reaching out but careful not to touch the fence. Peggy can see burned fingertips on one man. They’re all mouthing words, some of them managing sounds, others actually managing words.

“Hilf mir.” One of them pleads as he touches the fence, falling back and convulsing with the shock. Peggy understands the German, but there are other languages she doesn’t know, but she recognizes the universal language of fear and resignation, of death.

“Who are they?” Monty asks, voice low and horrified. More people come out of the buildings, all wearing gray and white striped outfits stained with dirt and blood, with other things Peggy is loathe to identify. “Hydra prisoners.”

“No,” Peggy whispers, the rumors she’s heard of camps, of the atrocities the Germans have committed obviously true. “No, I’m afraid this is all too human.”

There’s a shout in the distance and two men in the black outfits of the SS, swastikas on their arms, come around the corner of one of the buildings, firing into the crowd. They continue yelling, continue shooting until one of them stops, bright red blossoming on his forehead. He drops and, before he hits the ground, Peggy’s second shot hits the other officer in the head. He crumples as well, and Peggy stares for a moment at the other bodies on the ground in the middle of the crowd.

Those left standing seem unaffected, the frequency and expectation of death in their blank eyes.

“Get the Jeep.”

Dugan nods, already heading for the Jeep they’d hidden back in the trees. Gabe nods from where he’s been on the radio, and Peggy looks at the rest of her men. “Men die in war. Let’s make sure all of these officers are among them.”

They move fast along the fence as an alarm goes up. The sound is loud enough that it’s hard to think, and the prisoners all sink to the ground, covering their ears and wailing. It’s a cacophony exacerbated as the Nazi officers start returning fire. Peggy holds her shield in front of her and uses the tommy gun at her hip, firing continuously at the officers. Some go down in full regalia while others emerge from their quarters partially dressed. They go down just as easy. One of the prisoners crawls over to a dead guard and takes the gun from his hand.

Time seems to stand still for Peggy as he turns the gun and looks down the muzzle. She wonders if he’s done this before. Even from the distance she can see a lifetime in his eyes. His finger twitches, but then he turns the gun away, walking to stand over one of the men who is trying to crawl toward a fallen gun.

Peggy can’t hear either of them, but the reaction of the man on the ground makes her think he’s telling him to stop, or threatening to use the gun. There’s gunfire and shouting, smoke and fire as some of the buildings seem to explode with flames. But she can see him saying stop over and over, the officer now on his back, looking up in fear down the muzzle of the gun.

There’s a loud yell and suddenly the Jeep is barreling forward the gates with Dugan driving and Morita braced so he can stand and shoot at anyone in the way.

Peggy follows the Jeep inside, using her feet to turn over fallen officers as the rest of the team gathers the live ones at gunpoint. She reaches the prisoner with the gun and holds out her hand. He tries to talk, but he has no voice, mouthing the words. She thinks he might be speaking Polish, though she’s not sure, but he does lay the Ruger in her palm.

She looks down at the man cowering at their feet. “Herr Kommandant?”

He spits at her, and she kicks his jaw, whipping his head to the side. Blood dribbles out of his mouth onto his white undershirt and the ground.

“Shall we try again? Herr Kommandant?”

When he responds, it’s not an affirmative, and Peggy knows enough German to understand the insult. The sudden urge to shove the Ruger in his mouth and fire is strong, but she suppresses it quickly. Even classified material gets read, and she’s holding Steve’s legacy in her hands.

“I wonder which is worse for you,” She speaks slowly and clearly, and something about his expression lets her know that he understands her. “That I’m English, that I’m going to make sure you suffer for a long time for your crimes, or that I’m a woman. I do rather hope it’s the last.”

He spits at her again, and this time she kicks him between the legs. The boxers he’s wearing offer no protection, and when he grabs his genitals, Peggy drives the toe of her boot under his chin, knocking him back onto the ground unconscious.

“Falsworth, do make sure Herr Kommandant is locked up. Somewhere out of the way where he can’t cause us any trouble.”

“My pleasure, Captain.” He salutes her even though she has no official rank, and she nods back. Monty walks over to the prone body and looks at the prisoner who hasn’t moved away. “Don’t suppose you’d like to help turn the key, old chap?” He slings one of the commander’s arms over his shoulder and hauls him to his feet. He lists, but there then is a too-large, too-thin hand pulling the commander the opposite direction to steady Monty.

Monty nods at the prisoner who puts the commander’s other arm over his shoulder. It’s clear he’s providing balance, but not support, but Peggy suspects helping someone with his enemy is a decision that will determine the course of the rest of the man’s life.

“Gabe, do we have word of any others coming in?”

“Got a reply from the Sixteenth Regiment. They’re about two hours out barring any skirmishes. They’ve got three medics coming with. Said not to give them food or water.”

“What?” Morita asks angrily. Peggy knows about the internment camps the Americans have for people of Japanese descent, and she wonders if she’s going to need to have him wait outside to stand guard “Why not?”

“Not used to it. Will most likely make them sick. Sicker. Said they learned that at the first camp they liberated.”

“Jesus. How many of these damn things have they found? How many _are_ there?”

“My guess is far too many.” Peggy sighs. “Let’s break into pairs and make sure we have all the staff apprehended and see the extent of what we have here. Gabe, you and Denier. Monty, you’re with Morita. Dugan, with me.”

She points in a direction for each pair. She and Dugan head to the back closest to the railroad tracks. There are three cars sitting on the rails with no engine attached. Dugan heads over and opens one, pulling the door back.

Peggy isn’t sure if the sight or the smell is worse. The bodies are stacked and crammed into the car so high that several of them fall out to the ground. Dugan gags and turns away. Peggy puts her hand over her nose and mouth, trying to resist the need to do the same.

“Bring the command staff out here. Supervise them unloading these cars – and they’d best do it carefully – and then start them digging. We’re giving them a burial. Save any identifying information and find out what stops this train made. I intend to make sure as many families as possible are notified.”

“I think these might _be_ full families.” Dugan slings his rifle off his shoulder. “You got a problem if some of the Jerries show up with bruises, Cap?”

Peggy’s mouth thins. “Sergeant, as long as they can still dig, I’ll be disappointed if they didn’t.”

**

Phillips shows up at the same time as the Sixteenth, taking over for Peggy. He looks at the horror surrounding them. She can see his attempts at stoicism, but his eyes flash with anger. “Stark has some intel for you.” His voice is gruffer than normal. “Did a flyover and found what actually appears to be the weapons compound, and it’s still active.”

“Hydra?”

“We’re finding fewer and fewer German soldiers. Hitler lost the Eastern Front and it seems like everyone’s seeing the writing on the wall, suddenly aren’t nearly as fanatical, all of ‘em claiming they weren’t Nazis. Apparently getting your ass beat makes a difference in loyalty. So where there’s smoke, there’s an active base..”

“Where there’s smoke there’s Hydra.” Peggy nods. “You’d think with their leader gone, they’d be smart enough to do the same as HItler’s soldiers.”

“Yeah, well, Hydra isn’t known for being smart.”

She blows out a breath. “We’ll move out at sunset. I’ll coordinate with Howard.”

“He’s talking about hunting for Rogers now that the war’s pretty much over. Once Hydra’s taken care of.”

“I’ll think about after the war whenr I’m done fighting the war. Until the last of Hydra’s gone, a far as I’m concerned, nothing’s over.” She heads toward Howard where he’s standing at a distance, handkerchief over his mouth and nose. Peggy realizes she’s grown accustomed to the smell, which makes her feel sicker than even the initial stench. She can’t think about Steve, can’t think about him out there somewhere, his body just as lost as Barnes’s. She can’t think about their first and last kiss. She can’t because she can’t break down.

She won’t.

There will be time to properly grieve when the war is truly over. Until then, she carries on.

The Commandos gather around her as she walks, all of them still pale from the horrors around them. None of them speak. No words would be adequate.

“Carter.” Howard nods to her and takes away the handkerchief, his trademark knowing grin absent. “You up to wreak a little havoc?”

“If by that you mean burn Hydra to the ground, I think we’re all up for it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Revenge doesn’t seem your speed.”

“Avenging,” Dugan says. “Revenge is blind anger. Every single one of us is going in with their eyes wide open.”

Howard looks at each of them in turn then nods. “Well then. Let’s get to work.”

**

There’s nowhere for Howard to land, so they parachute in. Monty’s worked with them enough that the Commandos are like a well-oiled machine, and they keep Peggy with them as they land silently in the ashes of a burned building.

Peggy doesn’t let herself think about the thick air of the camp, the ashes in the air there.

They approach the building from the rear, fanned out. She, Morita, and Dugan going forward in a wedge formation. They wait in silence, all of them counting down. As Peggy reaches zero, Denier’s first explosion takes a chunk out of the right wall. While the sound is still echoing, Dugan kicks the door open and the three of them move inside.

Another explosion goes off on the right side, adding to the smoke and chaos from the first. Falsworth follows Denier in through the damaged wall, firing before he’s even breached the building. Dugan and Morita spread out and Gabe follows them in. He takes the far left, disappearing down a hallway.

“Dugan, with Jones.” She nods to Falsworth and he and Denier disappear into the hallways on the right side. Morita stays close to her as they head straight into the bowels of the factory. They dodge Hydra operatives, leaving some alive, but most of them dead and littering the ground. Peggy feels the sting of a bullet graze her thigh, but she keeps going, firing indiscriminately as she dodges and ducks away from the bright blue bursts of Hydra weapons.

Morita makes a noise and Peggy shoots him a glance, but he waves her off. She nods and steps out of the alcove she’s in and fires from side to side, spraying the hallway.

The two of them push forward through a set of wide doors, taking out the Hydra soldiers remaining in the room. They head to a railing that looks down onto a floor filled with cages. Morita blanches and looks away from the dead bodies on the floor, some still locked up and others obviously shot while trying to flee. All of them are in the remnants of their Allied uniforms.

“Like Kreishberg.”

Peggy sighs. “Only this time Captain America was too late.”

“You didn’t know.” Morita rests his hand on her shoulder. “At least we can get them back to their families.”

She nods brusquely. “Radio the others. I want this cleared out. Have Jones alert Phillips. Split up the duty of gathering dog tags. I’m going to see what intel I can find.”

**

She finds what functions as an office, shutting the door behind her. She exhales roughly and sinks down in the chair behind the desk. There’s a map on the wall opposite and she wishes briefly that she has Steve’s memory. She banishes that thought immediately. She’s already seen far too many things she’ll never forget, and too few of them are things she wants to keep with her.

She sketches the map instead, noting each of the Hydra bases. Most of them she recognizes as ones she and the Commandos have hit, only two that she doesn’t know. She closes her eyes for a moment, granting herself the luxury of wishing all this was over. When she opens them, she’s still in the Hydra office.

“Stop stalling, Carter,” she says to herself. “You’ve no right to stop.” She skims through the files, gathering information for both Howard and Phillips. There’s a box that she dumps out, loading what she’s found inside. Jones knocks on the door and opens it.

“We found the lab. Got some things for Stark. Phillips is sending a troop in to finish the clean up. Said he’d take care of the notifications.”

“Are we to wait here?”

“Stark’s coming to pick us up. Phillips gave us coordinates for an airfield. Monty’s seeing if we can salvage a couple of Jeeps. Next time Frenchie needs to set his charges away from the auto pool.”

“Noted.” She stands and takes a deep breath, picking up the box off the desk. “Morita took a hit.”

“Upper arm, missed the bone. Clean shot.” He nods toward her thigh. “Don’t suppose you got Cap’s healing factor?”

“Didn’t come with the suit, I’m afraid.” She glances down, still too full of adrenaline to feel the wound. “I wish I could let Denier blow this place to nothing.”

Gabe nods. “Me too.”

“I do wonder if anyone’s gotten what they wanted out of this bloody war.”

“Get us out of here alive, and you won’t hear any of us complaining.”

She manages a laugh. “I’ll do my very best, Private.”

He salutes her. “Much obliged, Captain.”

**

They arrive back in England nearly a month later, some time in the too-early hours of the morning. They’ve left Hydra behind them in ruins, cinders suffocating under the weight of Steve’s name. Their death throes are barely a whisper, but that does nothing to alleviate the pain and horror left in their wake.

They’re all filthy, smelling of blood and smoke, wearing victory like a funeral wreath. They’re all exhausted, all trying to keep their emotions at bay as long as possible. When they walk down the stairs to the tarmac there are two Jeeps waiting for them, both drivers looking far too young to be behind the wheel, too young to be in the service, too young to die.

She thinks everyone looks far too young.

“Private,” Peggy says loud enough for both drivers to hear her. “Drive us to the nearest pub.”

“We’re supposed to take you to headquarters, ma’am.”

“There are quite a few things we’re all supposed to do.” She levels her gaze at him. “Your _orders_ right now are to take us to a pub. If anyone asks, tell them I outrank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He swallows at her look and then seems to notice what she’s wearing. “Um, Captain.”

“Thank you, private.” She tugs her jacket closed, hiding the top of the uniform. They climb in the Jeep, Howard joining them as soon as he exits the plane. They drive away from the fenced area of the small airstrip. There aren’t any lights as they head into town, only the bright beams of the headlights cutting the darkness.

They end up two towns over at the first place they find that hasn’t been destroyed by the bombings. There are several tables full though none of them actually look to be celebrating despite V-E Day. Howard goes to the counter and comes back with a tray. He sets a shot glass down in front of each of them, and then two in the middle of the table. Opening one of the three bottles he brought over, he fills each glass to the brim. Setting down the bottle, he lifts his glass.

Howard closes his eyes for a moment then sighs, opening them and tapping his glass to the two in the middle. “To the fallen.”

Dugan snorts. “Kinda literal there, Stark.”

“We band of brothers,” Gabe says, tapping his glass on the center two. The rest follow suit, and then drink. Stark keeps pouring and they keep drinking until the bottles are empty and the only thing left standing are the ones in the middle.

Morita stands up and salutes the table. “It’s been an honor, Captain. Sarge.”

All the rest of the Commandos stand to do the same. Peggy reaches out and touches one of the glasses. “Goodbye, Steve.”

**

The news hits the next day, all of the papers announcing Captain America’s death, news reports of the whole nation mourning, of _many_ nations mourning. Peggy traces the thin, delicate lines of Steve’s photo from before the serum. Everything he is – was – clearly visible. It seems absurd to be in love with him given the amount of time they were actually able to spend with each other, but she doesn’t question it in the slightest.

“Carter?”

She looks up from the file and smiles. “Colonel.”

“Stark said you gave the suit back.”

“It accomplished what we needed it to do. Steve deserves to have his own legacy.”

“It can’t be both of yours?”

“I’m fairly certain I’m not going to be the Captain America your country wants or accepts. Besides, I have my own legacy I’d like to build.” She closes the folder and pushes it across the desk. “But I’d like to tie our legacies together. All of us. Steve, the Commandos, myself, you, Howard.”

“How?”

“I’m not completely sure, but something. Something built on Steve’s beliefs. Something he’d be proud of, that he’d stand for. That would stand for him and everything we asked him to be.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“We asked a lot of him. Everything.” Phillips grumbles, and Peggy can’t help but smile. “I fully expect your input and help, Colonel.”

“You do, do you?”

“I couldn’t do it without you.”

“That’s a damn lie, and we both know it.”

“Perhaps.” Peggy smiles again, and it’s the first one that’s felt real since Steve crashed the plane. “But I’d love to see you try to prove it.”

Phillips glares at her and turns on his heel and walks. “God damn spies.”

Peggy can’t help but laugh.


End file.
